


Top This

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: This is the sequel to my fic From the Bottom.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Top This

**Title:** Top This  
**Author:** [ ](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/profile)[**impertinence**](http://impertinence.livejournal.com/)  
**Rating:** NC-17. It's smut, all smut.  
**Disclaimer:** Dean belongs to Sam, not me. Woe.  
**Notes:** This is the sequel to my fic From the Bottom. For some reason it took me forever in a day to write.  
**Word Count:** Around 5,000 words.  
**Feedback:** I am a feedback whore. Gimme. =P  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
Dean had a pair of handcuffs, but he’d bought them from a pawn shop and they were just about as cheap as it was possible for handcuffs to be. When Sam had picked them up, he’d immediately shaken his head. “Too flimsy.”  
  
Dean snorted. “Oh, please. What exactly do you know about handcuffs?”  
  
“I know that if you can wrestle a 250-pound werewolf and win, then we need stronger cuffs.”  
  
“Fine then, genius boy. How are we supposed to get ahold of ‘em?”  
  
“The same way we get our hands on anything else we need.”  
  
~*~  
  
“This is insane,” Dean hissed. “We’re gonna get arrested, our asses will be tossed in jail—“  
  
“No, they won’t,” Sam said calmly. “The only person they would arrest is you, and you’re dead, remember?”  
  
“Right. So instead of arresting us, they’d sell us to the circus! We’ll turn into fucking Siegfried and Roy.”  
  
“Which might be worth it, if I got to see you in a glittery Spandex pantsuit.”  
  
Yes, Dean was definitely going to kick his brother’s ass. Suggesting kinky sex was one thing, but tossing out a perfectly good pair of cuffs and then ordering Dean to steal them from a police officer, of all people?  
  
Sam was dead meat.  
  
Not right now, though, because even bandaged up and with aching muscles, Dean was horny as hell.  
  
“Fine!” he muttered in a tone that could only be called petulant. “Fuckwit.”  
  
“Just get out there, already!”  
  
He would’ve objected just on general principle—Sam topping did not translate into Sam getting to boss him around like he was some kind of girl, or something—but, again, he was really horny.  
  
Plus, Sam shoved him straight in front of that cop woman.  
  
“De—what the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.  
  
He gave her what he hoped was a charming smile. “Yeah. Nice to see you, too.” When her only answer was an arched eyebrow he continued hastily, “Anyway, I was just stopping by to say…” Shit. How was he supposed to play this?  
  
“Shit?”  
  
He’d spoken aloud. Smooth. “Uh, no! I wanted to say…” Suddenly, inspiration seized him. Whether it was brought on by sleep deprivation, pain meds, or motivation in the form of truly spectacular sex, he suddenly knew exactly what to do.  
  
“I wanted,” he repeated, “to say thank you. You saved me and my bro—you saved our asses back there.”  
  
Her eyebrow arched up in obvious suspicion. “That’s my job. Funnily enough, my job is also to arrest civilians who attempt to impersonate officers of the law.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I’ll just, uh, be going.” Why couldn’t she have been a little less bronze-balled? Sam was gonna kill him if he came out of this without the cuffs.  
  
The lady cop nodded. “You’re a good man, Dean. Good luck.”  
  
Hell with it. Dean threw his arms around the woman, surprising a grunt out of her. When he let her go, he was careful to be smiling goofily. “Thanks again, ma’m.”  
  
If she’d looked surprised before, now she looked shocked. “You’re welcome.” Her face hardened. “Now get out of here before I really do arrest you.” She turned on her heel adamantly and walked away.  
  
Dean grinned widely. “Hard to do that without your cuffs,” he muttered, slipping the metal instrument into his pocket.  
  
This was going to be fun.  
  
~*~  
  
“If we get arrested, your ass is mine.”  
  
“It was yours last night, remember? Shut up.” Sam stepped back and admired his handiwork. Dean was trussed to the bed with the handcuffs. The bed didn’t have those nice, convenient poles at the end, so tying him up had taken some creativity on his part—but Dean’s arms were now stretched over his head, the belt that held the handcuff chain tethered to the wall with a large nail.  
  
He knew there was a possibility that they’d both go to jail, and that hell would really break loose when the cops realized that his brother was supposed to be dead, but with a picture like this one in front of him, he really couldn’t bring himself to care.  
  
The picture in question squirmed uncomfortably. “Hurry up, man.”  
  
The words rankled. Dean was so good at forgetting who was in charge.  
  
The sting of leather against his skin made Dean cry out. “What the fuck?”  
  
Sam smiled slightly. “It’s kind of amazing, the things I found in that trunk of yours. Why, exactly, do you feel the need to carry a whip?”  
  
“So my sex-crazed little brother can tie me up and hit me with it,” Dean snapped. “Would you just get on with it, Sammy?”  
  
He wanted to be stern, but with Dean lying there, so vulnerable in a way that he never was with anyone but Sam, he found himself melting in a way he knew his older brother would’ve hated, if he’d been in any position to object. “Shh. I’m sorry.” He took a step closer, shedding his shirt and running gentle fingers over the slight red mark the whip had left on Dean’s stomach.  
  
“You’re so beautiful, did you know?” His hand dipped lower, brushing the hairs at the base of Dean’s cock, smiling when Dean arched his back, eyes screwed shut.  
  
“Whatever you’re smoking, I want some,” he shot back when he regained breath. “I’m old and scarred.”  
  
Sam swung a still-clothed leg over Dean’s hip, pressing their groins together, knowing that the denim and metal buckles would wreak havoc on Dean’s arousal. “You really don’t get it, do you?”  
  
Dean opened an eye. “Get what?”  
  
“This.” One of Sam’s hands found its way to Dean’s nipple; the other worked at the buckle of his own belt. “You. Are. Mine.” He twisted the nipple cruelly. “And when we’re like this, if I say you’re beautiful, then you bow your head, smile, and offer to suck my cock. Got it?”  
  
Dean took a deep breath, almost as though he was going to protest Sam’s treatment—but then he leveled his gaze on Sam, smiled, and said, “Can I suck your cock, baby brother?”  
  
The organ in question pressed even more insistently against his jeans. Sam tilted his head and studied his brother. “I don’t know…” he said. “You lying down like that, it might be awkward.”  
  
“But don’t you want to feel me?” Dean shot back. “Wouldn’t you just love to see me on my knees, feel my lips wrapped around you, sucking you off?”  
  
“Of course I would.” Sam paused, mostly for theatric effect—there was nothing in the world better than watching Dean squirm. “But, see, that’s the problem,” he continued. “If I wanted it the way you’re describing it, then I’d have to let you go.” Casually, he unzipped his fly with one hand, smoothing a possessive palm down Dean’s thigh with the other.  
  
“That’s not something I’m going to do just yet.”  
  
He could almost hear Dean’s annoyed thoughts. The irritation in his face was easy enough to pick out. But the thing that made this whole game worth it was that until Sam told him to, his brother wouldn’t say a single thing.  
  
“However,” he all but drawled, drawing his dick out of his now-open jeans, “I’m not going to turn down your offer of a suck.”  
  
He got up on his knees; with the length of his legs, it was easy to get up on his knees and hover several inches above Dean. He scooted forward a bit, till the leaking tip of his cock just barely brushed Dean’s lips.  
  
Even that contact made him shudder.  
  
The shudder sent waves through his body, shaking everything—including the organ currently dangling in front of Dean’s face. It bobbed against his chin, leaving behind a shiny trail of precum.  
  
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Dean exclaimed in disgust. “Get a grip, virgin-boy. Literally. If you want a suck job, you’re gonna have to do some work.”  
  
“What did I tell you about insulting me?” Two sharp slaps, one on each inner thigh—and then one right on Dean’s own erection. Sam watched, satisfied, as the man beneath him shuddered and clenched his teeth.  
  
“What did I tell you, Dean?”  
  
Through gritted teeth, Dean muttered, “Not to mouth off.”  
  
“Why’d you do it?”  
  
It was familiar, this song and dance. This wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last time Sam had topped. But Dean was always so wonderfully stubborn about it, a point he proved now by clenching his teeth and glaring.  
  
Sam sighed in mock disappointment. “See, this is your problem. I tell you to do something with that pretty mouth of yours, and you don’t do it.”  
  
He could almost hear Dean say, _Pretty? I’m not fucking pretty, dickwad!_  
  
But instead of mouthing off, Dean just lunged forward and captured the tip of Sam’s cock with his lips.  
  
Sam gasped. It was an entirely unexpected move and, if he were any good at this whole domination thing, he would pull himself out of Dean’s mouth and punish him for trying to take charge. Part of Sam—the part that got off on this game just a little too much—wanted to do just that.  
  
But Dean’s mouth was warm, and wet, and _ohholyfuckinggod_ the things he could do with his tongue…Sam arched back, hardly caring that he was grinding unforgiving denim into his partner’s cheeks, feeling only the sweet, aching fire that raced through him, throbbing, throbbing…exploding.  
  
Dean swallowed it down, smiling around his cock, and that single expression made Sam shudder again. He didn’t know how he’d gone without this—how he’d survived for so long without the man beneath him.  
  
“Gonna untie me now?” Dean asked, placing small kisses on the insides of Sam’s thighs. “I want to touch you…”  
  
It was an open statement, and Dean didn’t make them very often. Sam guess that he expected to be let loose—so instead of unlocking the handcuffs, Sam just grinned and stood up, pulling his pants off.  
  
“I really don’t think I will,” Sam said cheerfully. “Sorry, but I don’t trust you as far as I could throw the bathtub.” He crossed over to the bed again and smoothed a hand down Dean’s skin. God, it was so smooth and tight, his cock jutting up proudly—a break in the landscape of his skin, but such a welcome one.  
  
“Fine, then,” Dean gritted. “If you’re not gonna untie me could you at least stop waxing poetic and _fuck me?_ ”  
  
Only Dean could make ‘fuck’ sound so damn sexy. Sam knew he didn’t have a prayer of ever being able to talk dirty like he could.  
  
Still…he opened up the bottle of lube and smoothed some onto his dick, closing his eyes at the sensations even his own hand brought him.  
  
He had other ways to make Dean scream.  
  
“You know what I love about your body?” he asked quietly, lubing up a finger and circling Dean’s hole with it.  
  
“Urngh.”  
  
He grinned. “Not quite. It’s so taut and smooth—instead of being tall, you’re sleek and compact. So beautiful.” Two fingers now. The unoccupied hand reached up to fondle Dean’s nipple. “And your dick…your pretty nipples…your stomach…they all look better when you’re stretched out like this.”  
  
“Did you just call me pretty?” Dean gasped, arching into Sam’s touch.  
  
“You know you’re gorgeous,” Sam teased, before abruptly leaning up and kissing his brother hard. Teeth and tongue, battling, fighting for a dominance that Sam knew he’d already won.  
  
“You like this,” he breathed into the kiss, sliding a hand up Dean’s body and caressing the point where skin met metal. “Me tying you up, taking control—you get off on it.”  
  
“You do, too—Jesus, Sammy!”  
  
Three fingers.  
  
“Is that too much?” Sam asked innocently.   
  
Dean sent him a black look in return. “You son of a—“  
  
He opened the three fingers as wide as they’d go and moved his mouth back to Dean’s, swallowing the moan that erupted.  
  
He loved this. Sam knew the older man would never admit it—but after twenty-six years of being the great protector, Dean loved just lying still and letting Sam do all the work.  
  
Or maybe not so still. Sam grinned when he felt Dean’s entire body convulse.  
  
“C’mon, Dean,” Sam said, gripping the base of Dean’s cock tightly. “You want the fun to be over before it starts?”  
  
“Dunno about you, but I’m already having fun. Is your cock hard enough yet, Sammy?”  
  
It was meant to insult him and Sam knew it. Instead of returning the banter as Dean clearly wanted him to, he cut to the chase. Long fingers bit into Dean’s hips as Sam’s cock slammed brutally into his brother’s ass, making them both gasp as fire—both painful and pleasurable—ran through them.  
  
Dean’s eyes were literally rolled back in his head and he was whimpering, writhing beneath Sam. The skin beneath the handcuffs was bright red. Sam caressed it tenderly as he slowly began to grind his hips in a circle, never granting Dean even the slightest respite from the lust he could feel searing through his brother’s body. It manifested itself in bunched muscles, slick sweat, and that sneer his lips gained when he was _so close_ to coming but Sam wouldn’t let him.  
  
On Dean, arousal was almost a medical condition—and Sam reveled in being able to analyze it, to control it, to be so clinically detached that he—  
  
_Fuck._ Almost came when Dean flexed his muscles around him.  
  
Apparently, being a bottom didn’t dampen Dean’s enthusiasm at all. He grinned, clanking the handcuffs almost playfully. “See, I’ve been hunting longer. Got muscles that you don’t.”  
  
“But I’ve had more practice being celibate,” Sam shot back silkily. “Which means—“ he thrust in deep, reveling in the tightness and warmth engulfing him. “That I can hold off way longer than you can.”  
  
“Is that so?” He was still working at his restraints, trying to break not the cuffs, but instead working on getting out of the belt.  
  
Sam fought the urge to smirk. Dean himself had taught him how to secure things so that they’d never escape unless they wanted to.  
  
“You might as well admit it,” he said, giving in to the smirk. “You’re completely in my control and you will be until I choose to let you up.”  
  
The words made Dean shiver. “Fine, then. You’re my master, I’m your humble slave, and I obey your every whim. _Please,_ just fuck me already.”  
  
Submission and virtually no making fun of him in the process—Dean was bending even more than usual this time, and Sam was enjoying it.  
  
“I don’t know…” He put his hand to his chin in mock thought, maintaining a vise grip on the base of Dean’s dick with his other hand. “I think maybe you should beg some more. Why should I fuck you if I know you’re not sincere?”  
  
“I sincerely sucked you off a minute ago,” Dean groused, but when Sam’s grip tightened he relented. “Alright! I want you to…fuck me. I want you inside of me.”  
  
“But my fingers were up your ass just a minute ago. You don’t seem very grateful then…”  
  
“That’s because I didn’t want your fingers.” Dean gave him _the grin,_ the one that would have made Jesus’s knees weak if he’d ever seen it. It sure worked on Sam. “I wanted your cock.”  
  
“Wanted, huh?” Sam deliberately edged away. “Past tense. Guess you’ve changed your mind.”  
  
He’d never thought the rasp of metal against leather, the thud of leather pulling on a nail, could be sexy—but when Dean fought his bonds like that, it sure as hell was. “Sammy, I’m warning you—“  
  
“No.” Colder than the steel of the cuffs. “I’m warning _you._ I call the shots, remember?”  
  
“Sam.” Dean opened his eyes wide as he gazed at the younger man, and Sam felt all the tough defenses melting. He was butter when Dean did that. It was worse—better?—than _the grin._  
  
“Please?”  
  
It was the vulnerability that did him in, the knowledge that Sam might deny him and leave him bereft. The fear that his own flesh and blood would turn away.  
  
Sam would never understand how Dean didn’t know that he could _never_ reject Dean. He’d never been able to, even before the parted ways.  
  
There were some things that even college couldn’t change.  
  
So he smoothed a hand over Dean’s taut skin. “Shh,” he whispered soothingly. “I’m going to take care of you now.”  
  
It’s what Dean needed more than anything else, and Sam knew it. Someone to care for him…because his mother had died, and his father had expected him to be a man at the tender age of four. Sam himself had worshipped him like a hero—had never understood that his invulnerable brother was really just a scared boy much like himself.  
  
So he let go of Dean’s cock and grabbed his hips instead. Keeping his eyes locked with the other man’s, he began to move.  
  
In. Out. In. Out. Rocking together, slow torturous strokes that served to underscore Sam’s possession, the deep and intense _youaremineandIamyours_ feeling that coursed through them both. He could tell that Dean was having a hard time holding on—but they both fought for control, because this was too delicious to stop just yet.  
  
Pulsing deep inside Dean wrenched the control from Sam. Gasping, he felt his eyes slip closed as all his attention focused on that spot where they were joined.  
  
Dean controlled him. Dean _always_ controlled him. And fuck, but it felt good.  
  
“Sam…” Dean gritted out, and Sam realized that Dean wasn’t in control at all.  
  
Sam reached up to the handcuffs, touching them almost tentatively, gripping Dean’s wrists beneath the metal. “Mine,” he whispered, moving his hips aggressively against Dean’s, bumping them both back against the headboard.  
  
“Yours,” Dean half-muttered, half-whimpered. He squirmed— _squirmed_ —beneath Sam and then arched his back, pressing their chests together, driving Sam into him over and over and—  
  
He was slamming into Dean, feeling his orgasm approaching him like a tidal wave and all those other clichés, when his brother broke free from his bonds, letting out a triumphant shout when the belt finally gave way. “Jerk me _off,_ you fucker,” he snapped, grabbing one of Sam’s hands and placing it on his own dick. When Sam obliged, pulling in rough, hard strokes, Dean arched his back and literally hurled his still-cuffed hands over Sam’s back.  
  
The metal dug into that little part of Sam’s back right where his ass curved and _holyfuckingshit_ that was what set him off. Dean clutching him, actually lifting Sam’s taller frame off the bed, the now-warm metal hurting him in that perfect spot…Sam was gone.  
  
It was the best kind of oblivion, Sam decided, turning his head and licking a bit of Dean’s come off his stomach like a cat. This—the lying together, sweaty and messy and tangled, but happy beyond belief. Because when they were together, the rest of the world fell away—and after the encounter they’d had, Sam needed that togetherness.  
  
As though he was the psychic in the family, Dean’s arms tightened around him. Sam grinned and pressed Dean’s body down with his own.  
  
He took great pleasure in nipping Dean’s ear and taunting him: “Bitch.”  
  
~*~  
  
“I can’t believe this,” Dean grumbled. “First you make me talk to that freaky cop chick, then you make me ruin our hotel wall with your dominatrix games, and now you’re making me put the cuffs back? You got a fucked up sense of humor, Sammy.”  
  
“It’s not that bad,” Sam insisted. “For one thing, I’m going with you.”  
  
“And all of a sudden I feel so much better.” Dean accentuated the sarcastic drawl by slapping the cuffs against Sam’s ass. “Mr. Thinks-He’s-Suave is with me, so of course I’m safe.”  
  
Sam’s eyes actually darkened. Hunh. And here he’d thought that was just a cliché…  
  
“Am I going to have to convince you that I hang the stars again?”  
  
“Dude—ego much?”  
  
“You said, and I quote, ‘I’m seeing stars, and you put ‘em there.’” Dean itched to smack the smirk off Sam’s face. It was there way too much lately.  
  
“You’re a little punk, you know that?” Dean tried for irritated, but he ended up just sounding pissy. Dammit.  
  
“A little punk?” Sam glanced around and his hand tightened on Dean’s arm. _Shit._ He knew that set of shoulders, that angle of jaw, that tensing of legs—  
  
Sam opened up the nearest office door and shoved Dean in so hard that he stumbled against the desk.  
  
He never got a chance to recover, because in the next instant Sam was on him. Even on his knees, his little brother was tall enough to hold Dean’s hips firmly against the sharp edge of the desk.  
  
“Sam! Just how batshit crazy are you? We’re gonna get arrested!”  
  
Sam ignored him. Dean would’ve pushed him away, but a second later his zipper was down and Sam’s mouth was on his cock—and then protestations were replaced with gasps and sobs and begging for just a little bit more.  
  
Voices sounded very close by. Dean’s hands tightened on the desk, the image of someone walking in on this making the edge of his arousal _almost enough_ to send him over the edge.  
  
Then Sam did that little thing with his tongue, the thing that Dean himself had taught him, flicking it on the underside of his dick and running it over the slit, and Dean was gone.  
  
“Jesus—so—damn— _aaaah._ ” He let out a long sigh, muffling what would’ve been a very loud groan through sheer stubbornness. Somewhere very far away, the desk creaked beneath his fingers.  
  
He almost comes again when Sam licks his lips and grins that cute little grin of his. God, Sam was gonna look that innocent when he was forty…  
  
Suddenly he realized that the voices weren’t just coming close—they were right outside the door. And the shadow looked suspiciously like the very cop Dean knew they needed to avoid.  
  
“Sam!” he hissed urgently, nodding towards the door.  
  
Sam’s eyes grew huge. There was nowhere to hide.  
  
Dean shoved his dick back in his pants and zipped them hurriedly. “Quick—get somewhere! Anywhere!” he whispered. Got, this was a fucking police station, there had to be a hiding place somewhere…  
  
The desk. Dean thought it and Sam was there, crawling under the tiny space just as the door opened.  
  
The cop in the doorway did a double take. “ _Dean?_ ”  
  
Dean smiled and hoped to whoever was listening that he looked innocent and charming instead of like a lecherous man who’d just been given a blowjob by his incredibly talented younger brother. “Uh, yeah. Listen, I was about to leave town when I found something that I think belongs to you.” He produced the handcuffs from his back pocket. “Recognize ‘em?”  
  
The muffled groan from behind the desk told him that he sounded just a bit too ‘scum of the earth’. Well, Sam could just suck it up. Literally. If the cop walked to the other side of her desk, they were both screwed.  
  
Not in the fun way, either.  
  
“Yes, I do. They’re mine. They were taken from me the day you supposedly left, strangely enough.” She fixed him with a glare that could only be called suspicious.  
  
“Heh. Imagine that.” Dean was treading on thin ice and he knew it. “Well, here you go, then.” He handed her the handcuffs, still smiling like (he was starting to suspect) a complete idiot.  
  
“Thanks.” She took them and moved to leave, but stopped when she realized that he wasn’t following. “Are you coming? I have to lock the door.”  
  
Now she was downright scowling at him. Well, shit.  
  
“Uh, yeah. It’s just—you have a great office.” Dean nodded to emphasize his point.  
  
“Right. Can you get out of it, please?”  
  
Never, ever make a woman use her ‘cop voice’—especially if the woman in question was actually a cop. Dean exited hastily, grinning when the key turned in the lock. He slumped against the doorframe, giving the cop an indolent wave that she didn’t bother to return as she hurried off.  
  
For a second he considered picking the lock and letting Sam out, but…  
  
Images of metal flashed before his eyes. He rubbed his wrists where bruises still marred the skin.  
  
Nah. Sammy could stew for awhile. And then when he finally got out, maybe Dean wouldn’t have to wait till they got back to the motel room for a little fun.  
  
~*~


End file.
